Book 3, Eclipse 12

 5:30 AM Gotland Island

The belly of the massive transport glides from a distance without sound, leaving only a behemoth wake that rattles the local docks with much clattering amidst the dithering of waves and gul-chatter.

They could be plastic soldiers. They are 20 in number and dark against the purple sky. They are, of course, brothers and fathers and sons. They are American, they are Czech, they are French, they are Ukrainian.

They had been selected from a number of volunteers who had made their way to Ukraine to join the fight shortly after Putin's invasion. Not only had these today made the cut for the first delivery, but they were hand selected by multinational leadership to fulfill any missions viewed "outside the purview" of traditional engagement.

Each new they now operated at a status that would place them beyond the protection of their nation of origin. They moved as one machine of several parts. Soon the plane was removed as a dark dream and each disappeared into the town in three groups.

The team leader of the northernmost group was clearly out front. He would move ahead 15 to 30 yards, check for a secured parameter and then signal the others to move ahead. Each group commenced from the docks after the same pattern and would meet up to find two oversize pontoons loaded with weaponry and room for the troops.

Within only moments each of the groups maneuvers in syncopated bug-like starts and stops safely across to the pontoon boats.  The brine of the ocean fills the fog as the boats soundlessly leave the shoreline.

Just two days previous the island had been taken over secretly by Russian shoulders. This days initiative simply presented a quiet opportunity to return the goods that had been taken.

Although six had been killed in the original Russian invasion, silencers were fixed and only two men were targeted for this offensive.  Upon its completion, Serge Hepscrov and the more notable assassin Kyle Smaleski would be neutralized. Led by these two, intelligence specialists indicated that nearly the entire neighborhood of families throughout the fishing village, the elderly and several children had been mowed down and left to die in a mass grave with very little of it ever being reported internationally.

9:45 AM Palanga, Lithuania

They sit in someone's living room with tea and biscuits, the family retriever happily panting and weaving a maze between their legs.

There are too many people in the room. Aromas enter from the kitchen of sausages and fresh bread.

You did well then…? Piece of cake. We're all in one piece. Couldn't really ask for too much more.

He hears phrases in the room that is quickly becoming too warm for his comfort. All he ever sees anymore is the man's face. A little girl makes her way around the living room with a balloon.

Who the hell brings a child? The thoughts nearly shoot like flame from his mouth.

It was a clean shot. It was the right thing to do. He was supposed to feel proud. Being a member of Green team put him in the right place at the right time, that was all.

He didn't want any more attention or accolades, he wanted in fact to disappear.

In fact, he really never took seriously the possibility that the man in the tourniquet would die from his bleeding. Now being the one selected for taking the shot that took down Smaleski only kept him in the spotlight.

They toasted him at the fireside "the American boy." He was only glad to have a few days of leave, to sleep and get refocused.

He wanted nothing but silence. Soundless peace.

Book 3, Eclipse 11

It had been rumored that the American president would be stopping in Odessa as a show of support to Ukrainian troops who had been defending the key trade city after nearly a month's bombardment wherein Russia had targeted several civilian complexes including a shopping mall and several condominiums.

He had fallen into a coma, he remembered only that he had attended to a man's tourniquet and that several hours later as he sat grieving news of the man's passing he could only see his face reaching out to offer his cigarettes, the man's face and then the white light and that was all until the nurse helped him come to nearly 3 days later at the hospital with six or seven others who'd been eventually been brought along behind them.

He ate like a wild animal. He drank wine in large gulps.

Better take it easy there mister, handing him a bundle of grapes… Little bits at a time will be better.

Did you make these pork dumplings? He asks. No, she says.

Delicious.

I did not make them but I will pass on a good word to the kitchen from our American heroes. Feeling better?

He sleeps another two or three hours, shedding them away as minutes and feeling again the surprise at being woken, as though the more natural thing would always be the sleeping.

He got down to the mess hall for the strong coffee and read through his orders for their next tour. He would be paragliding onto Gotland Island where three brigades were congealed to form another arms unit that was intended to snake back through to the fight at the front near Palanga, Lithuania.

Just before finishing the plate with a smear of biscuit someone approached. It was the Sergeant of the Czech troops who many called "Bull " who had led them in during the first tour. His English was also surprisingly poor.

It was clear he had been looking for him and was happy to catch him before leaving the mess hall.

In placing his hand and fixing his gaze for just a moment it became clear the man intended condolences, a shared grief. By now many in their numbers had figured out how many hours he had sat vigil with the poor man in the tourniquet. They recognized the distinction of his willingness to stay as long as he did given his injury.

You are good man, he said.

We will kill these sons of bitches.